


The Sporting Spirit

by leiascully



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-21
Updated: 2010-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-10 21:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael has always helped his sister out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sporting Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: N/A  
> A/N: [**kink_bingo**](http://www.dreamwidth.org/users/kink_bingo/) gave me the square, and the story started writing itself in my head, so this is the mildest (figurative) incest and watersports that you've ever read. The show writes it itself, I swear.  
> Disclaimer: _Arrested Development_ and all related characters belong to Mitchell Hurwitz, Imagine Television, and Fox. No profit is made from this work and no infringement was intended.

"Hold on, hold on, I have to piss," Lindsay says, stumbling through a snowbank into a field full of snow that almost comes over her boots.

"The lodge is like, fifty feet from here," Michael points out, but she's off and staggering. She trips on a snowball and falls on her face. He picks her up. "Come on, Linz."

"Nooooo," she whines, "I have to goooo."

"What are you, five?" he asks her. She pouts. "Fine. Fine, just go so we can leave."

She squats a little.

"Are you not wearing...you know what, nevermind," Michael says. "I guess now I know why you wore a miniskirt in February."

She squints at him and nearly falls over. "Oh, God, I'm so wasted. Hold me up."

"No," he says. "There are limits."

"Michaelllll," she begins, warming up for that full-on whine he knows so well from their childhood, and, well, last week. Once she gets going, she's impossible to stop.

"Fine!" he says, catching her under the arms. "But if you pee on me, so help me, God, I'll...."

"Oh, you'll what," she says, comfortable against his chest, apparently. "You'll do nothing, just like always, because you're my good old brother and we've got that twin-bond, or whatever. My pee is your pee, right?"

"Wrong," he tells her. "You can start anytime, you know. I'd rather just get this over with."

She scoffs. "I wanna write my name."

"Linz, no," he says.

"Help me spell it," she says, leaning sideways until he has to stagger with her. "God, I had to piss like a racehorse."

"I can tell," he says, trying to ignore the yellowing of the snow. He can see the steam rising off the places she pissed as he hauls her around, trying to help her make the letters. It makes him feel funny. They both stand back and stare at their handiwork.

"I think you trickled on my boot," he says.

"Shut up, you liked it," she says, and punches him in the arm. He admits it was fun in a junior high kind of way, and the writing's almost legible. Lindsay's his sister, but God knows she's always been completely inappropriate. They've gotten completely smashed together. He's seen her close enough to naked. He knows _way_ too much about her body and her sex life. But he's never seen her pee before. He can't deny the little thrill of forbidden things. He had the same feeling when he was pursuing Marta. Weird to have it about his sister, though.

"Your turn," she says, flouncing out of his arms and readjusting herself. Once again, he's seen too much. The way they're doing her wax these days is strange. It looks like she has a little tree down there.

"My what?"

"Your turn, Michael, your turn. Write your name in the snow."

"Oh, no." He shakes his head. "Not gonna happen."

"Michaaaael," she whines, grabbing his hand. "Come on! I did it! It's your turn!"

He looks down at the ground. As usual, she misinterprets.

"Oh, what, you're embarrassed that I'll see your thingy? God, Michael, it's not like I haven't seen one before. Or yours. It's not like there aren't a hundred pictures of us in the bath together as children. Plus, I was at your bachelor party."

"You were?"

"You wouldn't remember," she says. "Do it. Do it or I'll scream and tell everyone you pushed me into the snow."

"What are you, six?"

She opens her mouth and takes a deep breath.

"Fine! Fine." He fumbles with his zipper. "Are you happy? I don't even know if I have to go."

"Write your name," she orders him.

It's weird taking directions from her. It's kind of hot. He really, really doesn't want it to be, but it is. She's standing there with her hands on her hips, staring at him, forcing him to pee, and somehow he's doing it. He's taken himself in hand, so to speak, and he's peeing on command, and she's watching, and it's uncomfortably sensual. A woman hasn't watched him do much of anything in a long time. Having her eyes on him gives him that tingle. Jesus, she's his sister. He shouldn't feel like this, like he'd like to take her orders more often. He writes "Mike" - there's only so far a guy can push his bladder - and then shakes off.

"I hope I'm allowed to put it away now," he says. "Or do you have any other requests?"

"Weirdo," she says. "God, I guess it really is cold out here."

"Lindsay!" he says, tucking himself hurriedly back into his boxers, and she giggles and tries to run away. Her hideously fashionable boots have slippery soles, apparently, or there's a patch of ice, because she slides, shrieks, and falls through the snowbank. Well, he's seen it all before. It's just good that all the teenage boys have retired to the lodge's hot tub for the night. He hauls her up.

"Ow," she says. "I think I twisted my ankle. This place is so uncivilized. Why don't they have any sidewalks?"

"Come on, wild thing," he says, looping her arm over his shoulder. "Let's go find you some underwear, first off. Maybe a bed. Somewhere away from people, preferably. All people. Especially me."

"You had fun tonight, admit it," she says, tucking her head against his shoulder.

"More than I should have," he says under his breath, and pats her head.


End file.
